we're going mad in slow motion
by komaeda
Summary: i will always love you, even with your hands around my throat or especially then. drabbles in lowercase.
1. accusation

she props her elbows on the table, brows raised as a happy-go-lucky smile curves her lips. "so," she starts. "i heard your dad's a dealer."

he raises his brow, "yeah, and?"

mikan cants her head, fingers interlocked as she rests her chin on her hands. it's an innocent gesture, but he calls bullshit. "no, nothing. just asking." he then watches in confusion and slight amusement as she gets up, turns on her heel, and scurries off to her friends.

it's an odd exchange, though not the first they've had. he doesn't think they've ever had a full conversation (nor does he think she's capable of one), but he enjoys her strange definition of small-talk nonetheless.

۵

her group of friends keep shooting him strange looks while giggling behind their hands – something he's used to, but it feels off. permy, the one who's usually held accountable for this action, is scowling at the twins as they share secrets. mikan looks somewhat smug as she talks to misaki – and is that a look of amusement on hotaru's usually bored features? alright, something is most definitely up.

getting to his feet, natsume makes his way over to the girls, only to cause the twins to erupt into a fit of giggles as they clear a path for him. it only irritates him further – needless to say, natsume hyuuga does not appreciate confusion.

he taps mikan on the shoulder, meeting her mismatched gaze.

"natsume! what can i do for you?"

he doesn't miss misaki taking this as her queue to leave, "save your cheeriness for someone else, what's going on?"

her brows furrow, "what do you mean?"

"i mean _what the fuck is going on?_"

mikan's confused expression turns to angry, yet still cute and one he can't take seriously. then again, when has he ever taken her seriously? "there's no need to get snappy! wait– i thought you didn't concern yourself in fangirl's affairs! i mean, all i did was tell them about how it was true your dad deals drugs and stuff–"

"_what?_"

her expression falters, "uh, yeah! well i mean, that's what i meant – when i asked you yesterday. about your dad. being a dealer. and stuff." she doesn't like the hostile expression on his face, not one bit.

his tone is more serious than ever, and she can almost see the fire in his eyes as he speaks, "polka. my dad is a car dealer."

"oh. fuck."


	2. you're going to be the death of me

wow... this is not as light-hearted as the first one, though i promise the real fluff will resume shortly!

* * *

natsume fights the heat creeping across his face. now, of all times, was not the time to be panicking. instead, he must remain cool like he always does.

but no – mikan just has to go ahead and curl her fingers into the fabric of his shirt, pressing her lips to his.

"mikan," he starts, pushing her shoulders gently.

"what?"

he pauses, feeling the blush rise to his cheeks once again. "i don't want to... i don't know, take advantage of you." he can't maintain eye contact for long when he's all flustered like this. his chest feels uncomfortably tight.

"you're not taking advantage of me, silly." she blinks, not understanding. "seeing you flustered is pretty cute, you know. aren't you supposed to be the 'great natsume hyuuga', or something?"

"or something," he mumbles. fuck, this definitely isn't cool.

she moves to lean against him, head on his shoulder and snuggling into his side. natsume strokes her hair absently with one hand. "do you ever... think about before?" her voice is unusually quiet, a tiredness in the back of her throat.

"what do you mean?"

mikan hesitates – almost like a _nevermind, lets forget about it_. instead she shifts against him, her voice distant, "dying. we always pretended we were okay with it, but i never really was. i'm still not – it hurts... it's scary."

he wraps his arms around her. "i know. i'm sorry you had to go through it, fuck, i really am. i'm so–"

"stop acting like it's your fault." her words are unintentionally cutting, added onto the fact that she grips his shirt so tightly she's practically clawing his sides. "because it's not."

his brows furrow, "calm down, mikan; it's okay."

"no it's not!"

"it's okay," he insists. "seriously – it doesn't matter, not anymore. we're both fine."

"i don't feel fine." mikan curls herself in closer to him, pressing her forehead to his collarbone. "i don't feel fine. i'm scared all the time, and i don't know why!"

he brings his hand to the curve of her neck, holding her close. "trust me, i know."

"i don't want to feel like this anymore." her voice is muffled against his skin and he closes his eyes. he knows she doesn't want to feel like this, because whether she knows it or not, he feels the same way.

"i don't want you to, either."

"i'm scared. really, really scared."

he draws in a shaky breath, "i'm here; i'll protect you."

it's a lie, he knows. how can he protect her when he fails every time he tries? her blood has been on his hands more time than he'd like to count. he isn't her hero. he is slipping just as much as she is, though unlike her,_ he_ has years of experience of pushing it down beneath his calm and collected exterior. how can he save her when he can't sort out his own fucking problems?

"mikan, i–"

but her lips are on his before he can get out the words and his mind goes blank – _think, you idiot, think_!

but he has forgotten how.


	3. human

this is so old and ugli honestly

✄ – – –

four days days. twenty-two hours. twenty-four minutes and three seconds.

and now it is four days, twenty-two hours and twenty-three minutes.

the brunette can't help but cringe as she sees the hand pass the seconds by, the fluorescent lighting and the constant watching of the clock is sure to give her a seizure, as she'd been told by permy. though that's coming from the girl who'd been asked out already by the cheshire cat boy. not even permy could deny that he's cute, especially since it's obvious she'd been crushing on him for ages (even if they'd met by him 'accidentally' throwing a snowball in her face and her trying to strangle him).

a sigh passes her lips before her head simply drops into folded arms, her small, slumped frame looking crumpled and pathetic. this was it, her life is over. even hotaru, the so called 'ice queen', has gotten a date and as much as she loves her best friend, that is a major blow to her basically non-existent ego.

it isn't like mikan wasn't pretty or anything – far from it actually, it just seems like no one wants to go near her. she's a friendly, cute girl, why does no one want take her to the dance?

✄ – – –

it's getting bad. it's getting so bad that even hotaru is beginning to feel sympathy for mikan, though she still refuses to buy her candy. permy has hatched a plan for mikan to steal a french boy's heart and rock up in a fancy dress with him on her arm, later breaking his heart in front of everyone when he went down on one knee in the middle of the dance. mikan only snorts and smacks her head on the table.

"there there, mikan. it's going to be okay! nonoko and i know some boys who would throw themselves off a _cliff_ to go to the dance with someone as pretty as you. i'm sure we can get in touch with them."

"in less than three days?"

that gets anna there. the brunette lets out another sniffle as big brown eyes begin to water the second she sees the other girl's small frown, clutching the front of anna's shirt and burying her face in it. "let's fa-face it! i'm going to spend the da-dance in a bed full of tissues watching reruns of b-bad shows!"

the girls can only look towards each other.

✄ – – –

silently and uneasily, sumire and hotaru make their way through the shiny halls of the academy, their flats making out of time tapping noises which irritates hotaru. this was dangerous, yes, but she was sure of it. and when hotaru was sure of something, she was usually right.

"look, mikan's my friend too and i care about her, but are you really, really sure about this imai?"

hotaru rolls her eyes as if sumire's stupidity is painful. "what's the worst he can do? set fire to her hair and leave? as if she isn't used to that already."

"yeah, but it's been… a while. maybe he's changed for the worse."

"funny joke shouda, i see yome's been rubbing off on you."

sumire's fingers curl into the fabric of her skirt, her jaw clenching slightly. "i'm serious imai. what if he just flat out says no? what if he turns up and breaks her heart– again? you saw how upset she was, it was even worse than now."

hotaru pauses, her expression stoic and unreadable.

"at least we'll know we tried."

✄ – – –

"koko, if you try to make a comment about my sexiness one more time, i'm going to roll you off a cliff so you end up somewhere in the atlantic without several of your appendages." sumire flicks him when he smiles innocently in return, a scowl settling on her pretty face. though her features soften when her gaze lands on mikan, who has been forced into a pretty pink puffball dress by her best friend. the girls have somehow convinced her into going with them as friends; sumire isn't sure how they managed to do it, but she knows it took a lot of persuasion on hotaru's part.

"mikan," sumire breathes, a smile lighting up her face. "you look so beautiful! you fit it perfectly, you look like a princess!"

"you're saying it as if it's yours, shouda."

"oh shut up imai. we're in the middle of a special moment and you have to say something like that. it's no wonder i can't stand you." violet eyes catch green in that moment, and sumire feels a little bad for what she's said. they aren't close, only knowing each other through the link that is mikan, so it's no wonder they're trying to get along for the sake of their common friend.

a giggle escapes mikan's lips at the two bickering girls, completely unaware of what's going on. "oh shh you two!" she moves to embrace sumire, both arms wrapping around her torso and holding her close, the taller girl giving her a quick squeeze in return.

hotaru grabs ruka's arm and begins pulling him towards the food table, the blond giving an apologetic glance towards the group and sumire takes it as a sign to leave as well, having to force koko away under the pretence of just dancing, leaving a confused mikan behind.

she makes no move to follow them, only standing there lamely as the rusty gears begin to turn slowly in her head. anna and nonoko hadn't gone through with setting her up with someone, had they? sumire hadn't actually found a french guy for her to dance with?

something – no, someone brushes against her fingers and she looks up, brown locking with crimson and her blood runs cold. her mouth is dry and she can't speak, can't move, can't do anything but stare. she has questions running through her mind so fast she can't hold on to any of them. is she dreaming? was she going to wake up and find herself in jinno's math class?

"hey."

she blinks, parting her lips to speak but no words come out. she must look like a fish, and that thought is what snaps her back into action. "w-what the–?! natsume? what the heck are you doing here?!"

"aren't you going to say hey back?" he's as cocky as ever, she realises, nothing will ever change that.

"why should i, jerk?" she sticks her tongue out for extra measure, crossing her arms over her chest. "what are you doing here?"

"i'm pleasantly surprised you'd like to know, polka dots. have you missed me?"

"permy put you up to this, didn't she? you come back when she asks but you avoid me like the plague for two years! you're a prick and you've got some nerve to show up here, now of all times!"

"you've got nothing going on."

"first no one wants to go to the dance with me, now you're here acting like i'm your territory!"

"no one put me up to anything. do you honestly believe your little friends could convince me to do shit? i'm here because i want to be. i'm here because i want to see you."

she steps back, though what she really wants is to step forward into his warm embrace. "i don't want to see you!"

"you're lying."

"am not!"

"you're doing that thing where you avoid my gaze and fiddle with your fingers. you're lying."

"no i'm not!"

"you look like an ugly blowfish when you puff your cheeks out like that. no wonder you don't have a date."

there's silence.

"what did you come here for then?"

he sighs, running his fingers through his hair and she kicks at the ground shyly. she doesn't know what she feels right now. she's happy to see him, though he's still so infuriating after all this time. "god, you're fucking stupid."

"that's uncalled for!"

"can't you put two and two together? fuck, mikan, you're the prettiest girl in school and i'm the hottest boy in the world" –she scoffs– "there should be boys drooling at your feet and girls throwing themselves at mine. the people at this school respect me, enough to keep their hands off you." he takes a step forward, closing the gap between them. "you're still mine."

"that's a little dramatic. and creepy."

"shut up."

an impish grin dances across her lips, burying her face into his chest. "i'm sorry for everything that happened, natsume."

"don't apologise, or i'll feel like_ i_ have to too. i don't mind arguing with you; it makes you human."

"i am human."

he kisses her forehead softly, his eyelashes fluttering closed as he does. "i forget sometimes. you're too good for me."

"well if i'm not human, what am i? a mermaid i hope."

"don't flatter yourself. you're not that pretty."


	4. koko rocks?

the day started with a bang.

quite literally. when a brick comes flying at your window at a million miles per hour, it's sure to make a loud noise when it smashes through. and when a brick smashes through your window, it's sure to wake you up. and when sumire shouda is woken from her beauty sleep, things don't look pretty.

there was silence, before an awkward laugh was heard from down below. "oops!"

"what the fuck?!" pushing her pink eyemask off her face, sumire had no time to scold anyone as she noticed the broken glass scattered across her bed, her eyes widening in surprise and horror. "y-you broke my fucking window!"

"haha, yeah, sorry about that." sumire snapped her head round to catch a glimpse of a boy with sand coloured hair rubbing his neck below her window. "i meant to throw that at mochu's house."

"how do you manage to fuck up that badly?!" her yells were probably loud enough to wake up the whole neighbourhood. noticing this, her eyes narrowed before she tentatively touched the broken glass. "kokoro yome, you are so dead." she pursed her lips, "help me clean this mess!"

"aight." she had no time to stop him as he began to climb the pipe that snaked up the side of her house, using the gears that connected it as foot rails.

"be–be careful! i don't want to have to clean up your brains as well as this." she inwardly winced at her unintentionally harsh tone, carefully choosing to ignore the cheshire grin that made its way onto his lips.

"give me your hand."

her eyebrows knitted together in suspicion. "what?"

he rolled his eyes as if her stupidity was painful. "so i can get in without bleeding all over your pure white carpet?"

"don't tell me what to do." she muttered, but stuck her hand towards him anyways. he latched onto it, his fingers curling around her wrist as he used her to pull himself in through the broken window.

unfortunately for him, broken glass is generally quite sharp.

she watched in horror as his shirt, and more importantly, his flesh, scraped against the tip of the glass as he made his way in, only to land on the glass that littered her bed.

"oh my god– are you alright?"

koko rolled onto her with a groan, his mouth cracking into yet another grin. "just dandy."

"for fuck's sake, first you wake me up by trying to kill me, then you put me into cardiac arrest by pulling this stunt!"

"aww, you do care."

"care about how much deficit i'm going to be in by the morning! like i give a damn about your annoying ass."

he carefully pushed himself up using his arms, "always showering me in compliments, that's my permy."

sumire groaned aloud, "don't call me that!"

koko's lips tugged into a genuine smile, undeterred. one hand moved up to brush her bangs away from her face, tucking the stray strands behind her ear. "you know what's annoying?"

"you?"

"liking a girl who doesn't like me back."

her eyes narrowed. "i really don't like you right now," she hissed.

"you say that everyday. you never like anything i do, i'm surprised we've managed to be friends this long. you're always being pissy and unreasonable–"

"–i'm unreasonable?! you're the one who–"

"–it's like you don't even care about my feelings. it's always about sumire shouda, what she wants to do, whenever it suits her–"

"–why you–"

she was about to finish her cutting comment when she found his arms snake around her waist, her lips pressed firm against his.

soft, soft. she could care less about the fact that her heart was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear it. she could care less about the fact that a pathetic sigh had just escaped her lips. she could care less about the fact that her first kiss had been taken by–

kiss.

her eyes flew open in shock and she pulled away, her cheeks dusted a rosy red as she began to stutter out a feeble excuse. "t-that was uncalled for!" sumire looked like she wanted to say something more, roseate lips slightly agape and her head canted ever so slightly. he didn't miss her curls that rested atop her shoulders, nor the length of the lashes that framed sharp, green eyes.

he leaned in again, his lips brushing against her ear. "you know when i said i meant to throw the rock at mochu's house? i lied."


	5. look inside my heart

mikan was used to being left out of things. whenever the other attendants ran off to the markets, mikan was left to study. whenever there was drinking, mikan was limited to water to refrain from the temptation and poisoning it would bring to her body. there was no physical contact, aside from the occasional helping hand – and even then, it could only be glancing touches by those who had been deemed 'pure' enough to touch her.

her body was to be as pure as the temple, saved only for the god she served.

daily bathing was something she had grown up with, wrapped in clean cloth and having to wait as the priests said their blessings and wafted their disgusting incense over her. mikan only wished they would say their prayers faster.

despite tending to the temple everyday, mikan held no interest in the endgame of it all. she'd never signed up for any of this. following tradition, all infants were to be brought to the temple on the first day of spring for blessings. from there, they would choose their guardians for the next 18 years.

in an orderly fashioned, the babies would be held to observe the statues in their line of vision, each representing the god and deities they worshipped. most children would smile, squirm, in recognition.

mikan didn't react at all when her turn came. thinking it was some kind of accident, the priests did the walk with her several times, to no avail. she was silent, calm, still. they couldn't coax any sort of reaction from the girl.

she never chose a god.

instead, one chose her.

while they fussed over her, confused as to why she was acting the way she was (or lack thereof), a statue fell.

the god of time, the orb or circle encompassing the universe, had spoken his words via falling face first onto the floor, angled towards the baby as if reaching for her. upon further inspection, the priests realised there had been no damage to either the statue or the baby. instead, she'd promptly fallen asleep.

nothing had ever happened like this before – and it was too dramatic to ignore. there was hardly any convincing at all to get her mother to forfeit custody of mikan in order for her to be handed over to the temple. her mother was merely comforted that her child would grow up to serve the gods themselves.

if only she knew what she was getting her child into.

/

she was at the age of seventeen, and envious of those who could do as they wished. not that she'd ever talked to them, no, the priests would make sure of that. they didn't want tales of her peers' exploits worming their way into her, as if they were going to tempt her into becoming unholy.

that didn't stop the assistants from giggling about it around her.

"stupid… oh, mikan can't touch anyone – mikan can't kiss anyone, so lets be sure to talk about it as much as possible around her, yeah! hey mikan, you want to try some wine? oh wait, you can't! want to go out to the markets and actually have fun? oops, mikan can't come 'cause she's too busy kissing the priests' pompous ass!"

she'd begun muttering quietly to herself, a frown settling on her delicate features. the priests hardly viewed what they were doing to her as unfair, justifying it as she was doing the gods' work. she hadn't brought it up again.

sighing, she looked back at her languages scroll. at least she only had one more year, one more year until the whole endgame of this sick game was to be revealed.

/

they were fussing more than usual, one of the assistants brushing her hair as the others fixed the hem of her robes. she was to look perfect, even more so than usual. the time had come for her to enter the 'sacrifice room', for years of keeping herself pure to finally end – at least, that's what she hoped.

mikan was ushered into the room, the priests leaving her at the door as they were unable to enter; and the smell of incense was the first thing she noticed about it, the next being the candles flickering every few metres apart. she was suddenly aware of the nerves in her stomach.

moving to seat herself on the cushion in the centre of the room, she took the time to glance about her a bit more. the room was a lot smaller than she'd originally thought, with only the way she came in as a means of escape.

she'd heard enough stories about the gods to know that a mortal crossed between one would leave an impact. and she had heard more than enough stories about_ her _god. he was recognised as the supreme god, existing above all the others in the pantheon and empire. he was feared and respected by many, not limited to his fellow gods. in other words, he was extremely important.

and thinking about it only made her even more anxious, though she wouldn't let her outward appearance show it. she'd grown up a little too snarky, stubborn, for their liking, extremely innocent and childish, sure – but she'd grown up beautiful and pure, and that was enough to satisfy the priests. to satisfy her god, too, she hoped.

yet there was no signs of another being besides her own here, and mikan was quickly growing bored. the dim lighting and the stuffy temperature of the room weren't helping, and as time was surely passing by in minutes, hours, (she wasn't sure) mikan curled herself into a ball.

as she drifted into a welcome sleep, she could only think about how ironic it was for the god of time to be late.

/

the shift in temperature was what awoke her. it wasn't drastic, merely cooling down to a comfortable warmth, but enough to cause mikan to stir. drowsy, her eyelashes fluttered open; sitting up in surprise at the person – no, being, in front of her.

there was no way he was a priest, not by the way he was dressed, and it was almost impossible for someone to just wander into the sacred room –––– no, it had to be him.

she inhaled sharply, though she attempted to have her feminine features remain calm as she ran her eyes over him. she didn't know what she had been expecting, really, but whatever it was, it wasn't this.

he was sitting down in front of her, but she could tell he was tall – a somewhat muscular build beneath his silks. he had dark hair, almost brown in the golden lighting. but what was truly spectacular, distracting enough to leave mikan staring, were his eyes. there was no looking away from them, a deep red that resembled blood – not that mikan had really bled before, just from what she knew when one of the priestesses had cut her finger. she thought it was pretty, the colour, and at the time she had decided that red was her favourite.

how ironic it was that her god's eyes were her favourite colour.

"did i wake you?" his voice was masculine and rough. before she could make any sort of reply (not that her voice would let her), there was a hand at her chin in attempt to make her focus. it was amazing how soft his fingers were, how gentle the touch; it was probably the most intimate thing she'd ever experienced.

everything was fuzzy when his hand moved to caress her cheek lightly in barely-there motions, her thoughts falling like water over rocks. if she wasn't so overwhelmed, she'd be disgusted at how pathetic she was acting.

"nnn…" was all that managed to pass her teeth, yet she made no move to escape. the call of temptation was too strong, her heart hammering in her chest as she was completely unsure of what she was supposed to do. no one had prepped her for_ this_!

he laughed and she liked it, a dark blush dusting her cheeks at the cocky smirk that curved his lips. mikan had almost forgotten that in every story, gods were far too self-centered, too douchey. and here she was, locked in a room with one.

she finally parted her lips to speak, "wh-what do you want?"

"you."

"why, then?" it was hardly specific enough. "why do you want me?"

"well," she was suddenly aware of his face moving closer towards hers. "i don't think i need to compliment you when your ego is almost as big as mine."

he was distracting her, she realised as she broke away from his grip and the warmth of his touch was gone. "i want straight answers." mikan bit her tongue to stop her from getting too snarky.

he tilted his head, his voice emotionless, bored almost, "a lover, put simply."

she suddenly felt rather shy. a god wanted her romantically as well as sexually, and he was making a good case by doing absolutely nothing.

perhaps it was desire she was feeling; desire for something she wanted badly but knew nothing about. intimacy was something she'd never felt before and she'd always wondered what it would be like. though, she never expected it to come this way.

"you have a choice in the matter." his voice was quiet as he spoke, pulling a golden bangle from who-knows-where and holding it out to her. "it's a sign of you accepting a gift, a sign that you accept my advances."

she almost laughed, "are you_ courting_ me?" was it bad to be so teasing now, when there was a god in front of her? it was true that she was curious, and it was true she'd never been courted before – not when she had been so pure for this moment.

natsume shifted uncomfortably, "i suppose so."

"and what does your courtship entail?"

he looked away, and mikan was suddenly suspicious that he was feeling almost the same way as she was about the situation: nervous. he was like a love-sick teenager with a big crush, really. "i'll go as far as i can go until you accept my gift; i'm afraid we won't progress too far."

frozen, she was completely still as his hands found her hips, nervous and unused to being held. he lowered his head towards her neck to press a few gentle kisses to the curve of her shoulder and she squirmed. it wasn't a negative thing, nowhere near telling him to stop––– actually, she wondered how she could ask for more.

"lose your words?" he chuckled and she wondered if his voice had always been this husky. "want me to help you find them?"

self-centered douche.

as stunned as she was, she'd never thought she'd accept her first kiss in such a predicament. neither did she think she'd ever have the gall to take more. when natsume moved his hand up to her chin again to hold her prim and proper, pressing their lips together, mikan had been the one to snake her arms around his neck to keep him close.

it was tender, sweet, yet somewhat messy. steadily however, natsume began to deepen the movements in time with the slow tipping back of mikan's head. it was overwhelming, and she tried her best to kiss back into natsume's mouth when the idea seemed doable. namely, when she was conscious enough of what was going on to react further than breathing.

there were quiet words of praise in between kisses, and when he finally parted his lips from her, her face was probably as red as her hair.

"i realise my seduction skills are a little… full-on."

she replied honestly, "i have nothing else to compare it to."

he regarded her almost shyly, "does this mean i have courted you successfully? do you accept my gift?"

leaning back in to peck his lips, she smiled. "court me some more."

✩ – ✩

hey! please send me prompts/pairings/any ideas U have for me to write (preferably in reviews)? i need some good prompts/to appeal to the #fans


	6. it's a party in the graveyard

natsume isn't a dreamer, a believer, anything aside from a cynical asshole. he doesn't believe in redemption, or heaven for that matter – and he certainly doesn't sit around contemplating the after life. to him, there aren't any gray areas, only black and white, yes or no, wrong or right. he doesn't consider it cold-hearted, because cold-hearted is just who he is.

he likes facts. things he knows for certain include: he will die one day. it's inevitable, but everyone dies. secondly, he's extremely good looking. the swarms of people lining up just to_ look _at him is proof of that. lastly, there is only one world, and that is the world he lives in. he has never second guessed those facts, and he assumes he never will.

until that saturday night. it's cold; he remembers this well because he forgets to bring a jacket to the party, thus rows and rows of goosebumps line his arms and he complains about the cold to ruka every now and then. ruka tells him to pop off and he ignores it.

it's a relatively boring party, to his standards anyway – nothing amusing like dancing on tables or the police showing up happens. so it's only understandable that he leaves early, cutting through the local graveyard to get home quicker, because _damn_, it's cold. and surely, by coincidence, he's distracted by the cute girl bending next to a nearby grave. her white dress so bright in the moonlight and her hair is long, down past her shoulders. a look of peaceful innocence adorns her features, wide eyes locked on his. the air is still.

hands in his pockets, he chooses to ignore the strangeness (not to mention creepiness) of the situation and shoots her a smirk, the upward tug of his lips inviting enough for her to slowly get to her feet. "hey," he doesn't even need to try to inflict a flirty tone; he's all sexy drawls and invitation. she doesn't say anything, so he takes it as a sign to continue. "'it's a little late to be out here, don't you think?"

her eyes remain on his. "i know who you are."

he raises a brow, "i'm not surprised. i'm a bit of a legend, aren't i?" he's as cocky as ever.

the girl's hands ball into fists, as if she's struggling to articulate the words to come; like they're stuck behind her teeth. "i need to know… why did you die?"

"depressing sense of humour, i can get behind that. we are in a graveyard, after all." the cocky smirk never leaves his lips despite the chills running up his spine – he's unsettled, but he'll never admit it. and while ghosts are entirely irrational and natsume strongly doesn't believe in them, he's swallowing his words the second she flickers – _she flickers_ – like a school projection gone wrong.

ghosts aren't real, ghosts aren't real, ghosts aren't –

"why did you die?"

sheer panic takes control of his brain and he feels a numbness in his body. his limbs are heavy like lead, and he knows he's the type to get annoyed at characters in horror movies for not moving, but all of a sudden he can understand the lack of action. he's frozen in place.

"please," her tone is laced with desperation, "why did you leave me?"

"leave –" natsume finds his voice at the back of his throat as he takes a step away, "i don't know who you are!"

"don't make excuses, please! don't lie to me anymore."

she looks like she's about to cry, and he nervously glances at the headstone she was only just standing by, long enough to catch the words 'mikan sakura. 1934 – 1955.' the words hold no meaning to him. "look, i don't know who the fuck you think i am, but i'm clearly_ not_ that person. i don't even know who you are!"

the girl lets out a wail, burying her face into her hands. "how could you forget me? your _wife _– how could you?!"

he tries to put two and two together. "lo-look, you think that i look a lot like your spouse, who'd have to be a handsome fucker, but i'm just some teenager cutting through the graveyard. you've been dead for half a century, so i'm swear i'm not who you think i am!"

there's silence.

when she looks up, it's as if it's in slow motion. her features are skewed into a look of utter hopelessness, tears streaming down her cheeks. she's beautiful enough to pull the look off, in a dead sort of way. then she sighs; a big, final sigh. she's given up, made evident by the way she hangs her head before turning and walking back to the headstone.

he blinks, and then she's gone.

YOUNG WOMAN GOES MISSING AFTER DEATH OF HER HUSBAND.

mikan sakura, age 21, is believed missing after the mysterious death of her husband, tsubasa andou. local police are appealing for the public to keep an eye out for the girl. she was last seen wearing a white dress around the town square, at about 3:25pm yesterday. anybody who has seen mikan or knows of her whereabouts should contact local authorities immediately.

✿ – ✿

thank you for suggestions! feel free to send them in at any time honestly :+) ruka/anna and sumire will be coming up hopefully (i love sumire so much so you can expect a lot of her)


	7. best friends

she's his best friend.

they lie on the roof of her car, him on his back against the leather jacket with initials that do not belong to him, and her on his stomach, leaning up against her elbows. she's aware of his eyes drinking in her curves, her features. she's aware of his bruises left by someone else's knuckles. "why do you always do this to yourself?" she sighs, but it's a light poke – it's not full of disappointment.

"i can't help it," he grins. it's more like a smirk, and she describes it as a mix of cockiness and self-hatred. she frowns. "i was raised the wrong way."

"you shouldn't joke about it."

"and you shouldn't act like my mother."

"well fuck you then," she retorts. "find your own way home."

"oh, come on." he whines as she begins to pull herself up, swinging her legs over the hood of the car. "you're not going to be like this, are you?"

she pushes herself off with practiced ease, like she's made the leap countless times before. "of course i am."

he's a devil's trap in his grin, she's a devil's trap in her words. lying about her feelings, where she's been, what's wrong; it all comes easy to her, after all, lying is in everything she does. all it takes is the sugary sweet smile and the feminine voice, and it's hook, line, and sinker.

so she wouldn't even dream of leaving him out here, alone, vulnerable, and slightly tipsy. but the threat is enough to get him to move his ass, "per_myyyyyy_," another whine, yet he still manages to scramble off the car and towards her. "i'll do anything you ask, i swear to every god up there, cross my heart, hope to die, poke–"

"okay, okay," she places a small hand in the middle of his face to push him away despite the warmness she feels in her heart. "whatever, just get in."

•••

they decide to get drunk and turn up to a party, uninvited.

sumire's slightly taller in her heels, enough to reach his lips without the aid of her tippy-toes, and she could do it if she wanted to; but she pushes that thought to the back of her mind. it only twists her insides, makes her feel sick, so she strengthens her resolve and makes her way up to the bathroom.

it's unbearably white, so bright that it causes sumire to shield her eyes for a moment to adjust to the light. there's no one else there (yet), so she steps into the bathtub and makes herself as comfortable as she can in the cramped space, pulling the curtain to make sure no one's sick on her.

she shuts her eyes so tight in hopes that she'll disappear, that no one will notice her hiding from the sight of koko flirting with other girls all night. she's stuck around parties long enough to feel sick at the sight, stomach twisting with desire to receive the same attention as they do, but at least she's seen the unguarded side of him. the one that makes her grip his hand so he'll be able to fall asleep at night, the one that's covered in the scars she's glimpsed at when changing (**_purely platonic_** – he asserts. sometimes best friends catch each other in weird situations, that's all). it's a win some, lose some scenario.

sumire figures she must've fallen asleep at one point, because there he is, shaking her shoulder gently to wake her up. his grin is wide; his ribcage a home for the wildest of animals, like his soul is clawing at his heart every time he breathes. she lifts her chin, blinking in the sight of him.

"how drunk are you?" he laughs, flashing his teeth with ease. "this is like, the second time this week i've found ya in here!"

sumire smiles weakly. he has this strange ability to put her stomach in knots just like that, and while she's internally hitting herself for letting him get away with her feelings like this, she still manages to fake her smile and brush stray strands of red behind her ear. she should really consider becoming an actress. faking her feelings would be her winning act.

"what can i say, i'm a lightweight." she insists, the white lie's delivery flawless. nothing gives her away, the tone of her voice is even, no nervous tick, not even the bat of an eyelash, or an uneasy breath ––– nothing. he almost believes it for a second. the sumire he knows wouldn't let herself be caught dead in an embarrassing situation.

he laughs it off, tucking more dishevelled green hair behind her ear in hopes to see her face. "come on, cutie." the hand that lingers by her hair then offers itself to sumire to pull her up, and they walk out together, hand in hand.

•••

she still feels that weight in her stomach when he finally falls asleep, like a wired computer shutting down, fingers interlocked with hers, gripping so tight at the lifeline that is sumire. they don't sleep well without each other. she's there to hold him because he can't remember how to hold himself.

a dreamless sleep is hardly likely; it's past three in the morning by now and she feels wide awake. she snuggles in closer to his body while he's not awake to push her away for getting too close – she's seen what happens to other people who try him. she's the closest thing he has to a support system, actually, she's the closest person he has. and even then, it barely scrapes the surface.

she bends over backwards for him, glossed over smiles just to keep him from blaming himself for all the bad things that have happened to the both of them. her everything is simply not enough.

this is hell, yes – hell is burning for eternity in desire for him. anyone can set themselves on fire for someone else.

green hues shoot open, a crease between her brows as she blinks back the tears she feels burning the corners of her eyes. he's never seen her cry. she lifts herself up, breaking physical contact with him by releasing her grip from his hands, before lifting his shirt over her head and grabbing her clothes from the night before. she scrambles to the door quietly, making her way down the creaky stairs she knows to avoid and gets into her car – all while not looking back once.

she doesn't start crying until she's passed the _see you again soon!_ sign.

•••

koko feels pleased with himself when he wakes up and sees the clock reading **11:04AM**, knowing that he slept at least ten hours for once. the smile leaves his lips all too quickly when he notices the empty bed beside him, the cold of his hand, and his shirt on the floor. the animals in his ribcage howl when he draws in a shaky breath.

"sumire?" he calls out, hoping that she woke long before him and decided to shower, or something. there's no way she'd leave him on his own like this. "this is real funny, i'm laughing on the inside. i'm _dying_ of laughter over here."

still no answer.

he swallows something sharp in his throat, shifting the covers to stand. he checks the bathroom – nothing. he checks downstairs – nothing. he looks out the window – nothing.

_it's okay_, he tells himself, _she probably just got sick of waiting for your dumb ass to wake up, so she took herself home_.

that's what he repeats in his mind when her number leads straight to voicemail.

•••

she picks up on his third try.

"what's up," she laughs into the phone, sounding unusually peppy for someone who's just been crying. her green hues are sharp, flecks of blue like an expanding ocean, and she looks far too pretty save the slight redness around her eyes.

he sounds relieved, and she feels her heart jackhammer in her throat. "just wondering where you went. you had me worried, perms. so, uh, where are ya? we can hang at that new record store down the road, if you want–"

"i can't." she cuts him off, before adding, "i have an assignment i have to finish."

"are you at home?"

"no. at school –"

he sees the lie for exactly what it is. "oh, cool. i can help ya–"

"i have to go now, okay? you know how libraries get when you talk for too long."

"wait–"

"bye!"

•••

she doesn't come home for another four days, nor does she pick up any of his calls. he's started to ring her every three hours, but she turns her phone off completely to save herself from the temptation burning at her insides.

•••

when she finally comes home, she decides that showering is her number one priority. she needs to wash her sins off her skin, but she forgets that between the slick tiles is where thoughts run amuck. she's left wanting to know if she runs through his bones like he does to hers, wondering if he thinks about her like this, the way she secretly hopes he does, spanning the roads along her flesh, along her curves. she wants him to inhale hesitation before he kisses her. she swallows back the shame she feels.

her next stop is his house, standing in front of the door with no conviction to actually knock (how _very_ unlike her). there's so much hope within her that, by chance, he'll open the door as if he's been waiting beside it the whole time. she doesn't knock, but she stands there for a while. then she simply walks away.

she's almost at her car when she hears his voice. "sumire?" there's no time for her to respond because his arms are suddenly around her body, fingers ghosting along her waist like she's glass and touching too hard will cause her to break. his lips are glued to her forehead and she relaxes into the hug all too quickly, her face burying itself into his shoulder. sumire's not even aware of the tears until he jokes about how his favourite shirt is all wet.

"that's the only shirt you wear, dumbass." she tries her best to sound annoyed despite how obviously upset she is.

he pulls away to wipe her tears with his thumb. "what's wrong, perms?" it only makes her cry harder. "hey, fuck, uh – come here." koko wraps his arms around her again, pulling her in even closer as his fingers find themselves in her hair, stroking the length of green of their own accord. "shh."

"i'm sorry," sumire cries into his neck and he hushes her.

"don't be."

"i'm sorry," this time she curls into him, hands fisting his shirt in desperation. "i'm really, really sorry."

he closes his eyes, "you've got nothing to be sorry for."

"you're just so easy to love–"

"what?"

"and you always ignore me and my feelings and i hate myself for being mad at you–"

"slow down–"

she clutches him tighter. "and i always lie for you, and you always smile at me for it and i'm really, really sorry, and it's okay if you hate me because i would too, and–"

"sumire–"

"i'm so fucking sorry."

"sumire," he pulls away, holding her shoulders and looking her directly in the eyes with such certainty. it's so unlike him, and it's so like her; the tables truly have turned. for once, he's the one who's comforting her. "it's okay. breathe."

she inhales a shaky breath.

gentle fingers tilt her head upwards, before his hands cup her face and a smile graces his lips. "it's okay, sumire. it's more than okay – this is good."

her eyebrows knit in confusion, and she parts her lips to speak, but he cuts her off.

"fuck, i thought i was stupid for acting the way i did: keepin' you close but so far away. i wanted you so bad but i didn't wanna hurt you. guess i fucked up on that one, didn't i?"

hope dawns on her, the spaces between her ears echoing with every word that leaves his lips. "what are you trying to say?"

"what i'm tryin' to say," his smile turns to a lopsided grin, like it's a secret he's bashful about. "is that i love you, too, silly perms."

the animals inside him weep with joy when she leans up on her tippy toes, lips hovering over his with every intention to kiss him, to make up for the years of longing that has made her heart beat better.


	8. one kiss, one spark

don't you understand? my tongue is doused in gasoline. one kiss, one spark – you burn.

* * *

she has a really nice cupid's bow. that's the only poetic thing that sticks from this memory; the one where he sees the fallen figure in the middle of the desolate road, caught in his headlights, red seeping through her bones. if she hadn't stirred when he slammed the breaks, closed his car door, and walked over to her, he would've sworn he'd walked in on a murder scene.

her hair blends into the blood – it's brown, yet in this light it is so violent, so striking, it stands out amongst the white of her dress. her expression is just so peaceful, like she's taking a nap in a meadow at three in the afternoon; the headlights of his abandoned car cast a halo around her. she simply glows in the light.

"hey–" he cringes when his hands touch something wet. panic is beginning to fuel his movements, yet he must remain level headed when he figures the life of a pretty girl is in his hands. "are you okay?"

her eyes open slowly, blinking in the blinding light like a newborn, drinking in the world for the first time. it all feels like a dream – until her eyes focus on him and she sits up in alarm. well, attempts to, anyway.

"don't–don't move." natsume swallows the fear in his throat. "we need to get you to a hospital, okay?"

"no – don't."

he'd take the time to admire her voice if he wasn't so confused. "what do you mean? you're losing heaps of blood – you could die without medical attention."

her eyes narrow, "i meant no hospital. i can take care of this myself."

"you don't look like a doctor to me." she doesn't look visibly shaken, either, in fact, she's quite the opposite. she seems completely calm despite the blood dripping from her lower shoulders – hell, natsume's the one who's reacting rather badly to this predicament, and he's not the one who's injured! "can i just – can i take you anywhere? i need to feel like i'm doing some sort of civic duty here."

she pauses, considering his offer for a moment. her long, brown hair falls to the side when she cants her head ever-so-slightly, and her pale skin has this angelic glow to it that draws natsume's attention to her, and only her. he can't even remember why he was out driving in the first place.

"take me to your house."

"this isn't some kind of ploy where i take you home and you and an accomplice brutally murder me right after you take all my belongings for yourselves, right?" he frowns. "get in."

and that's how natsume hyuuga took home an angel.

well, he doesn't know she's an angel just yet.

she'd bandaged her wounds with her now ripped up dress, and the bleeding stops after an hour.

he's getting changed in the bathroom when she sees it. he'd left the door open just a crack, and she had been studying the assorted items scattered around the living room when her gaze falls on his exposed back. she walks towards him, drawn like a moth to a flame.

"hey – what the fuck?" he turns around in alarm when he sees her reflection in the mirror, but her touch is gentle, soothing when it traces the outline of the demon wings on his back.

"what is this?"

"uh, a tattoo?"

"why?"

"why not?" she moves a little closer, and he sees the wonder fill her eyes through the mirror and decides that maybe it might be a good idea not to be a dick about this. "i think they're cool."

her lips twitch upwards in a smile, like he's reminded her of a secret only she knows. she tilts her head, exposing the pale moon of her neck. "what do you know about them?"

"demons?"

she hums in response, and he swallows the lump building in his throat.

"i know, uh, you know – lore and stuff. they're not real."

she leans in a little closer, studying the intricate lines, and he feels just so self conscious, so nervous that he swears his heart seriously stops for a moment. her voice is like a song when she speaks. "they're beautiful creatures despite what some people say. lucifer was an angel himself, and he was so repulsed by god's love for humans that he grew jealous – he was the youngest child until god brought home the new baby."

natsume already knows all of this, but her voice is so sweet and she sounds peaceful, harmonious with it all – with him – that he lets her continue.

"he was so full of pride and jealousy because of god's own gift to him that he allowed it to consume him. he was cast out of heaven – the first fallen angel."

"you sound like you love them."

her eyes flicker towards his own in the reflection of the mirror. "you can love a monster, natsume, they can even love you back. but that doesn't change its nature."

a week passes and she's still in his house, using his towels and sleeping on his couch. he learns that her name is mikan and she's 'not from around here', that she has many cousins, and she's hiding from her parents. he asked if they're the ones who hurt her and she seems to think about it for a moment, before deciding to go with the vaguest of truths – no.

"hey, i hate to ask, but can i ask how long you think you'll be staying here for?" he says one day at the end of dusk, when the moon is beginning to make itself at home up in the big, navy sky. he's in the middle of putting away groceries when he gathers the courage to finally ask.

mikan looks up at him from the couch she's sprawled across, a coy smile spanning her lips. "just until i get my life sorted out. it won't be too long, i promise."

"that's not what i was worried about," he admits before he can stop himself. "i'd rather not lose your company."

a brow raises. "are you saying you'll miss me when i leave?"

"who else can say that they became friends with the bleeding girl they picked up off the streets?"

every word seems to go in one ear and out the other – except one. "friends?"

natsume looks a little uncomfortable, but disguises it by fiddling with the edge of a can he has yet to stack in the cupboard. "that's what we are, right?"

she smiles to herself. "yes. i suppose we are."

* * *

the friendship doesn't last long. her words are silk, they flow like sweet syrup, dripping through the gaps of his skull and sticking to his brain. it's hard not to be drawn to her lips. he kisses her when the stars fade into the morning sky, all but one dull, the sun shifting across their bodies.

her skin is as soft as he's always imagined, delicate, like her bones are the metal structure of a glass house. mikan allows him to take the lead and perhaps a bit too far – they're both shirtless, moaning against each other on the same couch when his fingers brush against the back of her shoulder blades and he pauses.

the flush in her cheeks drain when she realises what has happened.

"i–"

"please tell me these aren't what i think they are and this is just some weird side effect of you bandaging yourself up."

she bites down on her lower lip, burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. her voice is muffled when she finally speaks. "they are – exactly what you think they are, i mean." mikan takes his silence as a sign to continue. "i tore them off, natsume. i tore my wings off."

his words are reduced to a harsh whisper, "_why?_"

"oh natsume," her hand finds his cheek, fingers brushing against the skin in a gentle caress, "have you not seen loyalty? forgiveness? _love?_ why can't i feel those things, too?"

"are you – are you human?"

she shakes her head, and he tightens his grip around her waist. "my grace is in my neck; tearing that out is like removing your insides with a plastic knife. it's a craft i couldn't do in the short amount of time i had – i'm an angel, natsume. i'm a fallen angel."

"and those cousins of yours? your parents?"

she sits them both up, looking at him with wide eyes, startling him slightly. "angels, archangels, _god_. they're all looking for me – i can't listen in to heaven, i can't heal, i can't do anything. but i can feel things, natsume, i can feel all the things you feel!"

"you can't feel the same things i feel, mikan." it feels like a stab in both their guts, but she regards him curiously, brows furrowing. "because i'm not human either."

her eyes search his face, looking for answers hidden between the curve of his lower lip, the sharp edge of his jawline, the lashes framing his blood, red eyes. she knows the answer before the words even leave her lips. "what _are_ you?"

he kisses her, sweet and long and hard, firm and lingering. "exactly what you think i am."

* * *

i missed writing/reading for this fandom! but i can't guarantee when i'll next write for it :+(

(sort of) speaking of which, i'm over on archiveofourown with the username asukalangley with some stuff! you should check it out. or not. i don't mind


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